


Ramen and Rumi

by oisugasuga



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Banter, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oikawa Attempts Poetry, Poetry, Ramen, Suga Is A Nervous Mess, Texting, Urban Fantasy, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 22:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17775377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisugasuga/pseuds/oisugasuga
Summary: "He doesn’t like me like that," he responds, resting his head on the back of the couch and staring up at the ceiling. Watery, golden streetlight from outside plays along the white paint, mixing with the pale blues thrown from the television. Suga’s suddenly thirsty… probably from the amount of salt Kuroo put on their popcorn."God, you’re joking right?" Kuroo asks, voice incredulous. "How many times do I have to tell you? Oikawa adores you. Anyone with eyes can see that. And you two need to figure it out and stop acting like elementary kids with cooties. It’s embarrassing."





	Ramen and Rumi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mozaikmage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozaikmage/gifts).



> For Masha for the HQ Writer's server Valentine's Fic Exchange!! I hope you enjoy the poetry reference bc I'm a noob but I tried ♥︎ (And I really want ramen after writing this)

Sugawara feels just a _little_ bit dramatic when he shoots up from his couch, casting the blanket he had draped over his lap to the side in a flurry of frayed tassels like a superhero shedding a cape. It lands in a lumpy pile on the cushion next to him.

 

Kuroo’s head — in response — whips up from where all 188 centimeters of him are sprawled across Suga’s rug, eyes widening, and Suga thinks he can just make out the flicker of golden-red fur before the kitsune blinks and then realizes there’s no danger.

 

_"Oops,"_ Suga thinks. 

 

"Sorry," he says out loud, flushing just a bit because now both Kuroo and Suga’s cat — a white Bobtail named Daiki — are staring at him. "I just -"

 

"Finally figured out what you’re going to do for Tooru for Valentine’s Day?" Kuroo finishes, smirking when Suga scowls.

 

"Could you stop reading my mind?" Suga snaps. "It’s private."

 

Kuroo shrugs and stretches, rolling over onto his back and baring sharp teeth. "I can’t help it when your thoughts are so loud… and so tempting. So, _so_ tempting because all you ever think about is your handsome onmyōji."

 

Suga’s frown deepens. 

 

"He’s not _mine_ ," he points out. He sits back down, chewing his lower lip. Then he realizes his fingertips are tingling and he glances down at them — they’ve gone hazy again, darkening and turning to wisps of black smoke. He shakes his hands, focusing, and watches them shift back to pale, unremarkable fingers with actual skin and bones.

 

_"I need to break that reflex before someone notices out in public,"_ he reminds himself. Kuroo keeps talking.

 

"Mm, but you want him to be. And he wants you to be his."

 

Suga sputters but he can’t quite look his friend in the eye so he just curls his legs up onto the couch, falls sideways, and buries his head underneath his blanket. Kuroo’s annoyingly right… about some things at least. Suga _had_ just been thinking of Oikawa — and about Valentine’s Day.

 

That had been why he had jumped up. Kuroo had come over to watch some dorky romantic comedy he just had to see — for a fire kitsune, he sure did like his soft, sappy things — and while watching the plot unfold onscreen, Suga had finally come up with an idea.

 

An idea to confess to his friend who had somehow, slowly, begun to feel like more than a friend to Suga. A friend who sent Suga’s heart into overdrive every time he walked into a room.

 

A flash of Tooru’s chocolate-brown eyes flits through Suga’s mind… followed closely by the other man’s grin, his strong hands, the way his eyes lit up whenever something really excited him, giving him an almost boyish charm. 

 

Suga feels his face heat up, eyelashes sticking in the scratchy wool of his blanket as he blinks. But he quickly quells the butterflies in his stomach to avoid falling into a fantasy that Tetsu has no business sticking his nose into. God, he had to be careful with him around.

 

Kitsunes had an annoying ability to read your mind.

 

Peeking cautiously out from under the blanket, Suga searches for his best friend to find Kuroo on his phone now, idly scrolling through some kind of photo feed and thankfully not paying any attention to Suga at all. The kitsune’s gaze keeps flickering from the movie still on the tv to his phone and back again so Suga buries back into the couch and thinks for a moment.

 

His plan, right. He had had a plan a few moments ago — about him and Tooru.

 

They worked for the same company, right? It would be easy to invite Oikawa out for drinks after hours. Or for dinner. They did it all the time anyway, usually taking turns walking each other home afterwards, so it wouldn’t be weird.

 

(Suga doesn’t let himself think about the fact that tomorrow is _Valentine’s Day_ or that Tooru may already have plans.)

 

So they’d go out. And then, before the night was over, Suga would confess his feelings.

 

" _That’s_ your master plan?"

 

Suga sits up again, glaring this time, as Kuroo’s flat, unimpressed tone drifts to his ears. 

 

Sometimes he really wonders why Tetsu is his best friend — he has a theory that it must have something to do with him being a fire kitsune. Maybe it calls to Suga’s enenra side… but that’s just Suga guessing, not actual fact.

 

Regardless, Kuroo’s intuition is starting to chafe at Suga’s patience.

 

Kuroo rolls up into a sitting position and welcomes a purring Daiki into his lap. He holds up both hands in surrender under Suga’s iron stare and before Suga can tell him off again for invading his _private thoughts_ , he speaks.

 

"Sorry, sorry. I’m trying not to, okay? It’s just that you’re practically vibrating with energy. Your thoughts keep slamming into my head."

 

Outside, a light, chilly rain begins to fall. And with it, Suga’s irritation wavers and then melts.

 

Kuroo’s right. Again.

 

"I know," Suga half-moans, sinking back down into soft cushions. "I can’t help it. Valentine’s is tomorrow." He rubs at his eyes and then runs a hand through his ashy hair, chewing on his lower lip. It’s another bad habit. One he really should break before he leaves permanent scars behind from biting until he bleeds.

 

Kuroo snorts and shakes his head. His long fingers stroke through Daiki’s soft fur and the cat purrs louder, snuggling up to the kitsune. Suga rolls his eyes. _"Traitor."_

 

"If I had known you two were going to fall head over heels for each other and then — instead of acting like actual adults and telling each other — _avoid_ even speaking about anything remotely related to romance, I wouldn’t have introduced you in the first place," Kuroo sighs, but Suga knows he’s joking.

 

"He doesn’t like me like that," he responds, resting his head on the back of the couch and staring up at the ceiling. Watery, golden streetlight from outside plays along the white paint, mixing with the pale blues thrown from the television. Suga’s suddenly thirsty… probably from the amount of salt Kuroo put on their popcorn.

 

"God, you’re joking right?" Kuroo asks, voice incredulous. "How many times do I have to tell you? Oikawa _adores_ you. Anyone with eyes can see that. And you two need to figure it out and stop acting like elementary kids with cooties. It’s embarrassing."

 

Suga tries to still his heart at Kuroo’s words but it thumps pathetically anyway. Kuroo always says that — that Oikawa is "head over heels" or "so whipped he should be in a can" but Suga isn’t so sure. 

 

Oikawa is just a good friend and, more importantly, one that Suga shouldn’t be dreaming about… but maybe confessing tomorrow will put all of this to rest. It may be humiliating to be rejected and maybe Tooru will be surprised, but Suga is confident they’ll still be friends. And then he can move on.

 

Maybe.

 

He’s about to say something snarky in return — like how Kuroo had taken _three months_ to even admit he liked Tsukki, his fiancé now — but at that moment, his phone goes off.

 

The small _ding_ is muffled from where his cellphone has slipped between cushions, but Suga hears it and so does Kuroo. Kuroo’s eyebrow raises.

 

"Speak of the devil," he murmurs when Suga finally fishes it out and glances at the screen — Suga would ask him how he knew but all he can really focus on are the words from his latest text message.

 

Tooru (๑ゝڡ◕๑)  
  
Koushiiiii, do you wanna grab dinner tomorrow night? At that new place near work, remember? I’m dying to try it.

Suga chokes on his own spit. Suddenly the rain outside seems so much louder and Kuroo’s interested stare burns against Suga’s skin. 

 

_"Dinner,"_ his stupefied brain repeats back to him, like his thoughts are moving from deep underwater, all murky and disoriented. _"Tooru wants to get dinner. Tomorrow. Tooru wants to get dinner_ tomorrow _."_

 

"You’re dematerializing," Suga’s best friend informs him, as if he’s watching some strangely fascinating documentary on the migration of penguins.

 

But Suga doesn’t care. He barely even notices the curling, ebony smoke that now makes up his hands and legs and arms, or the way the space around him disintegrates into his darkness.

 

He looks up at Kuroo instead, eyes wide. 

 

"He asked me to dinner."

 

Kuroo smirks, lips curling up, his hands stilling in Daiki’s fur. "I know," he says.

 

And to Suga’s immense frustration, the kitsune ducks in plenty of time to avoid the pillow he chucks at his head.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

Oikawa _knows_ he’s being dramatic.

 

And the look on Tsukki’s face only confirms it. His blonde-haired roommate looks absolutely deadpan when Oikawa glances up from where he’s curled in a fetal position on their kitchen floor.

 

"What?" Oikawa whines. He wishes his face didn’t feel so hot but it does and not even the chilly, February air seeping in under the windowsills can cool it down.

 

Tsukki sighs. And then he turns back around to the stove, mixing whatever he’s cooking for dinner around in a giant, steel pot. It smells like nikujaga. Oikawa’s stomach growls.

 

"You’re an idiot," comes his friend’s reply from over his shoulder and Oikawa pouts and sits up, cross-legged.

 

"I just asked my longtime heartthrob out to dinner tomorrow," he defends, crossing his arms over his chest. "On _Valentine’s Day_. I think I deserve a bit more credit."

 

Tsukishima snorts and readjusts his glasses. "Please don’t call Sugawara your 'heartthrob'," he says, turning down the heat and then turning back around to lean against the adjacent countertop. "It makes you sound like you’re lusting after a J-pop idol."

 

Oikawa throws himself back down on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the rain outside hush against the windows. "I’m not _lusting_ after him," he says sullenly, but his face is hot again and his back is itching and why hasn’t Koushi texted him back yet?

 

Had he been too forward? Had he been too obvious? (He’d tried to be casual about it.)

 

Does Koushi already have plans for Valentine’s Day?

 

That last thought turns Oikawa’s stomach over and he misses whatever Tsukki says next, too lost in his own head.

 

Suga hasn’t mentioned anyone else before. Or maybe there doesn’t even have to be anyone else in the picture. Maybe he’s just not interested in Oikawa that way. 

 

They’re good friends, yeah. They work together. Sometimes Suga falls asleep on Oikawa during movie nights, his cheek resting on Oikawa’s chest and a leg thrown over his waist as Oikawa holds him.

 

But that doesn’t mean Suga’s in love with him or something.

 

And despite the fact that both of their lives are crossed with the supernatural in some way — Suga’s mother having been an enenra and Oikawa’s family coming from a long line of onmyōgi — they have a pretty normal relationship.

 

A pretty normal, _close_ relationship.

 

Because Oikawa can’t be positive, but he’d thought that they’d been getting closer recently, a phenomenon that made him incredibly happy.

 

Koushi is beautiful — and smart and funny and sassy and eventually, Oikawa had found himself daydreaming about kissing his friend in the middle of lunches and those movie nights and work.

 

Needless to say, it’s only escalated from there — and Oikawa’s been dying to say something for weeks now.

 

"I can feel you thinking from here," Tsukki interrupts. "Just relax. Suga obviously has feelings for you. You guys look at each other like lovesick puppies every time you’re together. It’s disgusting."

 

"Oh please," Oikawa retorts, still lying on his back like he’s been shot, splayed out like a starfish wearing rainbow socks and a neon-green hoodie. "As if you and Tetsu-chan don’t suck face all the time. And during dinner too. Do you know how _rude_ that is, Kei-chan? Not to mention unappetizing."

 

He lifts his head just enough to grin victoriously at Tsukki’s bright-red face, the other man sputtering wordlessly.

 

And then his phone goes off with a sharp _ding_ , right on top of Oikawa’s stomach. 

 

_"Oh God,"_ he thinks and the grin falls off his face and he scrabbles for the slick hunk of plastic, heart suddenly up in his throat.

 

Tsukki mutters something under his breath — it sounds suspiciously close to "dumbass" — but Oikawa can feel his roommate’s eyes on him as his own furiously scan the text message lit up on the glass screen.

 

Koushi ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ)  
  
Koushiiiii, do you wanna grab dinner tomorrow night? At that new place near work, remember? I’m dying to try it.   
  
  
I’d love to.

Oikawa is on his feet in an instant and his cheeks hurt with how big he’s grinning and Tsukki is smiling despite himself but all Oikawa can think is a keyboard smash of characters and exclamation points and little emoji hearts.

 

He embarrassingly — he’ll think that later — fist-pumps the air and bounces up and down a few times. Somewhere in an apartment above them, a door closes and then music is filtering through the thin walls from somewhere else and Oikawa feels like his heart is _singing_.

 

Koushi had said yes. Koushi had said _yes_.

 

"God, what’re you gonna do when he says yes to marrying you? Set off fireworks? Hire a parade?"

 

"He said he’d 'love to'," Oikawa squeaks, ignoring Tsukki’s jab even though it sends a whole new explosion of giddiness through his chest.

 

"Pfft," Tsukki huffs. "I told you so. Now shush so I can finish making us dinner. If you think you can stomach it, that is." His glasses flash in the kitchen lights as he half-glares at Oikawa across the room.

 

"Don’t worry," Oikawa smirks, hugging his phone to his chest. "Now that Plan Confess to My Longtime Heartthrob is underway, you and Tetsu-chan may soon have some competition in the making-out-during-dinner contest."

 

And then he ducks and runs before Tsukki can chuck the soup ladle at his head.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

Suga runs his hand through his hair for the hundredth time in the past two minutes.

 

Kuroo sighs.

 

"Could you stop doing that? You look fine. For the billionth time."

 

Suga scowls at his friend in his bathroom mirror.

 

"I can’t -," he starts.

 

"Help it, I know," Kuroo laughs. "Kou, relax. You look great, okay? Besides, Tooru probably thinks anything on you looks good."

 

Suga returns his gaze to his own face, flushing a little. He worries at his bottom lip. Stares at his outfit. 

 

The place they’re going to isn’t anything fancy — it’s actually a new ramen shop that always has the most delicious smells wafting through the front door — so he’s gone for dark jeans and a charcoal-colored sweater with a white, collared shirt underneath.

 

_"Besides,"_ Suga thinks to himself, _"no one said this was a date. You’re just getting dinner with Tooru. On Valentine’s night. No need to dress up too much."_

 

His thoughts don’t help calm the nerves fluttering at his wrists. They accentuate them. Dinner on Valentine’s night? Shouldn’t Tooru be going out with someone? Someone he’s interested in? Why’d he choose tonight of all nights to go out for dinner after work?

 

Not that Suga has any room to complain. If Oikawa hadn’t texted him, would he have been able to muster up the courage to do anything himself? Or would he be at home tonight, cursing himself for not just confessing to Oikawa already? He had to at some point… holding onto it would only cause problems, right? 

 

_God_ , he’s so nervous. He’s so jittery because despite whatever Tetsu or Tsukki think, how do they know Tooru doesn’t just see him as a really good friend? What if this ruins everything? What if -

 

"Kou."

 

Suga sighs and turns around to hop up to sit on his vanity. He swings his legs and smiles at Kuroo.

 

"I know, I know. I’m thinking too much again." He feels tired, just a little. Like there’s a pressure right behind his eyes, mixing with the nerves fluttering about in his stomach. It’s literally taking all of his energy to avoid shifting — to keep himself tangible and not just a being made of smoke and mirrors.

 

The kitsune shifts on his perch on the edge of the tub and nods his head. "It’ll be okay. And if not — though I totally, one-hundred percent doubt it — I have mint chocolate chip ice-cream in the freezer and an entire slew of zombie movies over at my place, okay?"

 

Suga can’t help it. He laughs, grinning wider.

 

"Aww, Tetsu, you’re offering to watch _zombie_ movies? On Valentine’s Day? Don’t you and Tsukki have plans?" he asks, leaning back against the mirror. Kuroo shrugs and grins back, fingers moving to touch the iridescent pendant he always keeps around his neck — his hoshi no tama.

 

"Like I said, I one-hundred percent doubt that you’re going to need tissues and ice-cream tonight. Besides Kei wouldn’t mind even if you did, you know that. You’re always welcome."

 

Suga’s smile softens, his fingers lacing together in his lap. "I know," he says quietly. "Thanks."

 

A few moments of silence drift by comfortably.

 

Then Kuroo is jumping up, checking his phone for the time.

 

"Come on," he says, cracking open the peeling, yellow bathroom door. "We need to find you some shoes. You’re leaving in ten minutes."

 

\---------------------------------------------------------- 

 

"Um, Tooru. What the hell are you doing?"

 

Oikawa doesn’t look up from his laptop screen when he answers, his tongue sticking out from between his lips in concentration. 

 

"I’m looking up romantic poetry."

 

There’s an awkward pause and then Tsukki sighs.

 

"Why?"

 

Oikawa glances up, readjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He thinks it’s pretty obvious _why_ but he answers for Tsukki’s sake. His roommate is leaning against the doorframe to his bedroom, watching him with an eyebrow raised.

 

"Becauseee, Kou loves poetry. So I’m going to recite some for him."

 

Tsukki keeps a straight face for all of two seconds. Then he snorts, mouth twisting up into a grin.

 

"I don’t know if Suga is really into Shakespeare, if that’s what you’re planning…"

 

Oikawa frowns. He sticks out his tongue. "I’m not going to quote _Shall I compare thee_ or something," he says huffily. "I have some Rumi, jerk. And Dickinson."

 

"Oooh, _Dickinson_ ," Tsukki mocks and when Oikawa launches himself off of his bed, he makes a break for it, slamming the bathroom door closed to escape.

 

"Oh, Tooru?" comes his muffled voice through the door. Oikawa’s eyes narrow. He does not like that tone. It spells trouble.

 

"What?" he asks, turning back to his room. He needs to finish memorizing his poetry lines.

 

"It’s 6:30. And you still haven’t fixed your hair. Aren’t you leaving in ten minutes?"

 

"Tsukki!!" Oikawa shouts, glancing at his watch as his heart plummets. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

 

It _is_ 6:30. And he’s supposed to be at the ramen shop at 7.

 

Oikawa sprints back to his room to grab his stuff, Tsukki’s cackle in his ears the entire time.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

Suga is fidgety and he can’t stop.

 

_"Breathe,"_ he tries to reassure himself. _"It’ll be fine, just like Tetsu said."_

 

He glances around, trying to distract himself. Kuroo had dropped him off outside the shop on his way home and now Suga is waiting inside on a tiny, wooden bench.

 

Outside the small expanse of glass windows, Tokyo is glittering and bright. It’s clear today and although the shop is off on a side-street, Suga can hear the ever-constant rumble of traffic.

 

He kicks his legs, winding his fingers into the scarf around his neck. Tooru should be here any second now. The idea of him walking through that front door leaves Suga dizzy almost. He swallows.

 

_"Just tell him the truth. And if he says he doesn’t feel the same way, then that’s that. You’ll still be friends."_

 

Drawing a deep breath, Suga nods to himself. He’s right. It’ll be okay.

 

And Tetsu has ice-cream and Suga’s favorite zombie movies waiting in case of an emergency.

 

Suga wonders if he should’ve texted Tsukki. Him and Oikawa are roommates. Maybe the blonde human could’ve… what? Told him why Tooru had invited him out tonight of all nights?

 

Not that Suga isn’t happy. He’s giddy, underneath the nerves. 

 

Tooru is sweet. And good-looking. And ambitious and kind and funny. The idea of getting to spend Valentine’s Day with him makes Suga warm all over.

 

He leans back against the windows, feeling the cold bite through his jacket. The food does smell good, wafting through the air. The temperature in here is warm too, and the yellow lights cast everything in a honey glow. It clashes with the neon-littered darkness on the street outside… a cozy abode in the middle of black ribbons of roads and towering, glass buildings and runny fluorescent lights.

 

It calms him.

 

That is, until the bell above the door tinkles and Suga turns his head to see a familiar figure pushing inside.

 

He stands. His knees feel weak.

 

Tooru looks… amazing. At the sight of him, Suga feels his throat run dry but somehow he manages to paste on a smile. The other man is dressed in black pants and a white, knitted sweater, a pair of black-framed glasses perched on his face.

 

"Kou-chan," he waves. His cheeks are flushed from the cold. His hair looks unnaturally tousled. Suga likes it.

 

"Hey," he breathes, moving so that they’re standing next to each other. "Long time no see." It hasn’t really been but Suga had barely seen Oikawa today at work — what with all of the running around he’d done for some pieces going to press at the last minute.

 

The smile Oikawa turns on him for the joke has Suga flushing hot and warm under his clothes. Their arms are brushing, but neither makes a move to step back a little.

 

_"Tooru’s so whipped he should be in a can."_ Kuroo’s voice echoes in Suga’s mind. He finds himself searching his friend’s face, studying Oikawa’s eyes, face tilted up to make up for Oikawa’s height.

 

"What?" Oikawa laughs, eyes dark behind his glasses. "Is there something on my face?"

 

"No," Suga answers quickly. He turns towards the long, wooden counter that runs the length of the shop. It’s crowded but there are two seats next to each other there on the end. "Should we sit?"

 

"Mmhm."

 

Suga moves towards the empty chairs. He ignores the brush of Oikawa’s fingers against his — the electric shock that runs up his arm and the feeling it elicits in the very core of him. Like Oikawa’s drawing his enenra side up through his skin.

 

His confession can come later.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

Koushi is gorgeous.

 

Oikawa can’t stop staring and honestly, he hopes he isn’t creeping the other man out.

 

But he can’t keep himself from drinking in every inch of Suga in front of him. They’re sitting right by the windows on the far side of the shop and Suga’s sterling hair is highlighted in icy blues and ragged golds and hot pinks from the lights outside. His beauty mark is a splash of ink under his eye.

 

Oikawa wants to kiss that mark. He wants to kiss every mole on Koushi’s skin, constellations he wishes he could explore.

 

"Tooru."

 

With a start, Oikawa straightens. He’s missed what Suga had said.

 

"Sorry," he says ruefully. A twinge of embarrassment flits through his chest but he shakes it off and focuses on Suga’s sweet smile. It looks a little nervous, wavering at the edges. "Were you saying something?"

 

Oikawa’s heart thumps once a little too hard at the look in Suga’s light eyes. Like he wants to bolt for the door or tell Oikawa something really horrible.

 

Suga picks at his leftover ramen, glancing down. Their thighs are pushed together under the wooden bar but neither of them make a move to inch away.

 

"I said I need to -," Suga repeats before he falters and drops off. His fingers tighten around his chopsticks, a flicker of shadow there. A sure sign now that Suga is definitely uneasy.

 

Oikawa licks his lips and then taps Suga’s knee. The other man looks over quickly, a noodle slithering from the end of his utensil and plopping back into the milky broth.

 

"Do you wanna walk?" Oikawa asks. Suga obviously wants to tell him something. And now is better than later for his poetry plans. Just not in here. Not in front of all of these people.

 

Oikawa’s hands suddenly feel clammy.

 

Suga nods.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

It’s a little cold to be sitting on playground swings in the tiny park they’ve wandered to, but Suga doesn’t mind. The nippy breeze helps cool his cheeks. It freezes the nervous breath in his lungs.

 

He kicks his heels against the ground and launches himself higher into the air, swinging his legs back and forth to keep his momentum. Oikawa does the same beside him, the two of them blurring shapes in the hazy city air.

 

He can hear Oikawa murmuring something under his breath, but he just picks up a few words as they swing in companionable silence — something like "beautiful" and "inner secret". 

 

Whatever it is, Suga is too preoccupied with his own inner thoughts. His fingers feel numb and his hands are trembling slightly around the chilly bite of the chain-link swing handles. He wants to blurt the words out. He wants to hide.

 

His lower lip hurts from how hard he’s biting it.

 

_"Just tell him,"_ his conscious murmurs. _"Before it’s too late."_

 

Tilting his head to the side, Suga watches Oikawa swing back and forth, his dark hair falling into his eyes and then swept from his face with the wind of his speed. He listens to the creak and groan of the swings and the rumble of traffic farther away. The city never sleeps and somewhere down the road a trashcan slams and a dark shape darts across the road.

 

_"You can do this."_

 

Suga puts his legs out and the nice shoes Kuroo had picked out for him are suddenly covered in mud and wood chips as he slows himself down. The breath is short in his lungs, but not from the exercise.

 

This is it.

 

"Tooru," Suga says, voice surprisingly firm. He squares his shoulders and breathes, waiting for Oikawa to slow down and stop.

 

And when he does — when he tilts his head to look at him and grins, so bright — Suga says it. Just like that.

 

Three little words that he’s spent countless hours agonizing over.

 

They just slip from his lips on a cloud of white air, as if he hasn’t been choking on them for months.

 

"I like you."

 

The next few seconds feel like they pass by through honey, thick and slow and sticky. Suga’s hands are no longer solid — he holds his breath and the fingers he has around the chain-link metal are made of the dark all around them. The shadows creep closer, ready to surround and protect and make up every atom of his body.

 

He could disappear into them if he wanted to. And right now he wants to. His ears are burning and suddenly the chilly, February air feels like it’s ripping his lungs to shreds.

 

But then Oikawa’s face is shifting, going through a few different expressions that flash through his eyes like the flicker of light from the windows of a passing train in Shinjuku Station. Surprise, disbelief, embarrassment, relief, regret, and then it settles on something like wonder.

 

Suga is holding his breath, heart thumping wildly in his ribcage, when Oikawa finally speaks.

 

"When it’s cold and raining, you are more gorgeous. And the rain brings me even closer to your face. The inner secret… shit, what was the rest?" He trails off, blinking. Suga stares, wide-eyed.

 

He’s bewildered, to say the least. And anxious. What -

 

But then it all clicks into place.

 

Oikawa’s face is bright red by the time Suga jerks from his shocked silence and laughs. The laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside him and then he can’t stop and he has to bend over and clutch at his knees. He feels light all of the sudden, like he could float up and away.

 

"Kou-chan," Oikawa whines. "Don’t laugh. I didn’t have time to memorize all of it."

 

Suga straightens, still giggling. His ribs hurt. His cheeks are still on fire but relief is shooting quick and sharp through his chest because he definitely did not imagine Tooru attempting to quote Rumi to him just now.

 

"You -," he starts, fondness washing warm over his head as he takes in Oikawa’s pout and frown. "Did you just quote poetry? After I _confessed_ to you?"

 

Oikawa’s flush grows deeper and he struggles for words, unusually ruffled.

 

"Here, I’ll tell you the rest. And fix the parts in the beginning," Suga teases. He holds Oikawa’s gaze. His fingers are human again and he feels warm.

 

All of his nerves are gone too, crawling back into the shadows. He’s pretty sure it’s the shock of Oikawa trying to use Rumi on him after Suga just blurted his guts out, but regardless, he’s grateful because it’s so much better than any of the bad outcomes he had imagined for tonight.

 

"When it’s cold and raining, you are more beautiful. And the snow brings me even closer to your lips. The inner secret, that which was never born, you are that freshness, and I am with you now. I can’t explain the goings, or the comings. You enter suddenly, and I am nowhere again. Inside the majesty."

 

His voice echoes off of the building walls surrounding them — closing them inside this small park, just the two of them — and when he’s finished Suga is breathless all over again, his voice trailing off.

 

When Oikawa reaches out and pulls his swing towards him with both hands, Suga can’t think.

 

When he peers up at Oikawa’s face, the other man’s eyes filled with a light Suga’s never seen so bright, his heart stops beating.

 

But when Oikawa leans down and kisses him, it starts back up again, stronger than ever before.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------- 

 

Koushi tastes like ramen. And the little noise that comes from his throat sends Oikawa’s thoughts into an immediate tailspin until all he’s aware of is Suga’s mouth on his, warm and soft.

 

He kisses him and Suga kisses back and when Oikawa’s hand raises on instinct to cup Suga’s cheek, letting go of one of the chain-links, the other man leans into it. Oikawa feels Suga grab his own swing, keeping them together as they sway just a little.

 

And for a while, that’s all there is. The softness of Suga’s skin beneath Oikawa’s bare fingers, his breath on his lips, the pressure as they kiss and part and then come back with shallow breaths. The heat of his face in Oikawa’s palm, the slow movement of their mouths together, the slow wonder of it all.

 

Their knees are knocking against each other when they finally part and don’t make a move to push back in to each other. Suga’s eyes are dark and beautiful. Oikawa almost can’t believe this is happening.

 

And then he remembers.

 

"You beat me to it, jerk," he half-whispers, still cradling Suga’s cheek. "I was supposed to recite my poetry and confess and _then_ you could’ve run into my waiting arms."

 

Suga’s eyes crinkle with a smile that transforms into a laugh at Oikawa’s words, his beauty mark catching a slant of light from a nearby streetlamp, and Oikawa can’t help the contagious grin that spreads over his own face. He can’t help but to lean in and press his lips softly to that mark under Suga’s eye.

 

And when it begins to snow — thick, white flakes drifting down slowly from the yellowish sky and getting caught in Suga’s long eyelashes when he blinks up at Oikawa — Oikawa thinks that Rumi had been right. 

 

He can’t explain the comings or the goings of their lives — he can’t explain how lucky they are to be here together in this moment — but it wouldn’t matter even if they were nowhere. 

 

Because Suga is with him now.


End file.
